


Pucknado

by greenglowsgold



Series: Pucknado [1]
Category: Glee, Sharknado (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenglowsgold/pseuds/greenglowsgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharks laugh in the face of science while Puck and Kurt completely ignore the natural development process of a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pucknado

Kurt didn’t really understand people who ran. Not that he didn’t appreciate the value of exercise, it was just that he preferred to do it under more controlled conditions, usually at home to a specifically created soundtrack and at a more convenient time of day than 5am. He’d never been one of those pre-dawn joggers whose breath fogged up the morning even as they had to wear unattractive shorts to stop themselves from overheating. Yet here he was, running through the streets of Los Angeles before the sun had fully risen, panting for breath and generally hating his life. Just one more reason why the promised ‘relaxing visit’ to California had turned into a complete nightmare.

True, one could argue that the more important and pressing reason was the sky full of sharks tearing overhead, but still, Kurt resolutely counted running on the list, even if it wasn’t quite at the top.

“Come to LA— you said,” Kurt said, heaving in breaths between every other word as they dashed down the sidewalks. “The weather’s— beautiful— _all the time_.”

“You wanna talk— about this _now?_ ” Puck yelled back.

“We get flooding— and— storms in New York,” Kurt continued. “You know what we’ve— never had?”

The eight-foot-long shark that landed in front of them a moment later rendered the answer to that question moot. Puck whacked at it with one of the crowbars they’d picked up from a hardware store several blocks back, knocking it just far enough to the side that they managed to skirt around it.

“It’s not like— it’s the usual forecast here, either— Kurt!”

“There!” Kurt tugged Puck roughly out of the street, making him follow as Kurt headed for the building he’d spotted: an actual, sturdy structure in the midst of LA’s flimsy, near-the-waterfront huts. Bars that looked like they were made of hay and bamboo were atmospheric but _so_ impractical. This store seemed to have solid walls, unbroken windows, and no floors above the main level that could collapse on them later.

Kurt didn’t usually think about these things. He didn’t usually have to be grateful for the fact that, hey, at least they were on higher ground now, so they didn’t have to worry about sharks swimming past in the flood.

“Close the door,” Kurt huffed, looking around the room they’d entered. It was a liquor store, which was just about the least useful place they could have stumbled into. But, hell, if sharks could fly now, maybe they could get drunk, too. Drunk sharks probably wouldn’t be as much of a threat, Kurt mused, and hated his life all the more.

Puck was looking out the window, neck craning to catch sight of the sharks overhead. “Okay. Okay, so we can just wait it out here, right? I mean, how long can they even survive out of the water?”

“I’m sure some biologists are going to have a lot of fun refining the answer to that question tomorrow,” Kurt replied, moving to join Puck. It wasn’t like a look around the store was likely to yield anything useful, after all, except… “Wait.”

Luckily, considering how covered the floors were with broken bottles that must have been knocked over by the tremors of the storm, the check-out counter was almost directly next to the door, and Kurt only had to pick his way past a bit of broken glass to get behind it. If ever he needed a stereotype about liquor store owners to be true, it was now, rummaging around in drawers behind the counter. “Yes!” He pulled out a shotgun from below the register, grinning widely as Puck stared. This place was useful after all.

“Are you kidding me?” Puck hissed. “Do you even know how to shoot that thing?”

Kurt glanced down at the gun in his hand, and back up. “Do you?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Well, my dad showed me how to hold one, once. And, look.” He reached down again, coming up with an overly-full box. “There’s a lot of bullets.”

“There’s a lot of sharks, too,” Puck grumbled.

“Plenty to learn on, then,” Kurt said, feeling unreasonably chipper.

“Yeah.” Puck nodded. “Hopefully they’ll all just die soon.”

That would have been a great triumph of science, yes.

“Just so you know,” Kurt said conversationally as he tried to locate the safety. “If I get eaten by a shark, I’m going to kill you.”

Puck crunched over the glass to join him, keeping one eye out the windows as he moved. “Yeah, well. At least we got some time alone, now. No more of those bullshit surprise overtime shifts. I guess I’m out of a job too, though, since the place kind of collapsed.”

Fiddling with the back of the gun (and pointing it very carefully away from them both) to try to discern whether it was loaded, Kurt didn’t bother to look away from the deadly weapon just for the sake of glaring. “If you’re about to suggest we have sex in the middle of an abandoned liquor store while sharks fall from the sky outside, you will not like my answer.” He figured his tone of voice carried it pretty well, anyway.

“Dude, no,” Puck snorted. “That’s how people in horror movies get killed, you know.”

“Also. We are _so_ settling down in New York. All your arguments for LA are overruled by the _tornadoes full of sharks_.”

“Yeah, but nine times out of ten there’s— what?” Puck’s attention was drawn abruptly from the window, and Kurt was startled to find it focused very suddenly and completely on him, instead. “We were… that was serious?”

Kurt fidgeted. He hadn’t been so much thinking about what he was saying as looking for more ways to insult the west coast, but… “Well, yeah. Weren’t we? I mean, I think I’m kind of over the whole long-distance thing.”

Puck took a step closer, grinning wider than he had a right to in this sort of situation. “Uh, _yeah_.”

Clearing his throat, Kurt searched for something else to say. “Plus, I mean, the city’s kind of collapsing right now, so I doubt your apartment fared that well, whereas mine is safely back in New York and not taken over by sharks and all that so…”

“Oh my God, _stop_.” Puck leaned in and kissed him, pressing close enough that the shotgun pushed awkwardly into his stomach and his shoulder jammed into a shelf, but Puck’s hand cupped warmly around the back of his neck and he really didn’t care. “Stop blaming the sharks for everything.”

“Well, it’s their fault,” Kurt said, feeling entirely justified, and a little light-headed.

“So, uh, that was us moving in together, right? We’re doing that, now?” Puck said, and the bastard was still smiling.

“Yes,” Kurt said, “and neither of us is allowed to die, because it will _definitely_ take both of us together to convince Rachel and Santana that this is a good ide—”

It was at this point that Kurt’s intense fixation on the sharks was proven completely reasonable, because one of them crashed halfway through the window, coming within a foot of Puck’s head.

“Jesus!” Puck exclaimed, stumbling sideways away from the rows of snapping teeth, and Kurt, reacting entirely on instinct, raised the shotgun before himself and shot the shark dead in the face. It wasn’t a difficult shot, given the incredible lack of distance involved, but it was so profoundly badass that Kurt was sure he would spend the rest of his life being proud of it. “Jesus,” Puck repeated softly, staring at the half-exploded head still lying propped against the counter.

“I hate this city,” Kurt moaned, setting the gun on a nearby shelf with shaky hands, just for a minute, until he trusted himself to hold it steady again. “I hate it so, so much.”

Puck didn’t take his eyes off the dripping shark brain, but he reached over and grabbed Kurt’s hand, calming the tremors a little. “I’m starting to agree with you.”


End file.
